


Going in blind

by Anonymous



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Consent Issues, Forced Prostitution, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston, arthur thinks he's gonna do a con but in reality he's the one getting conned, dutch being a major asshole, everything is just heavily implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22726180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John thinks about the con that changed Arthur.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 141
Collections: Anonymous





	Going in blind

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a part of a larger work that i scrapped, decided to share this anyways  
> so sorry for this  
> it aint beta'ed

John loved having a room on his own. He did not, however, like the cabin they were residing in. More specific, he didn’t like that they were in the middle of the woods with nothing to do. The nearest town was half an hour’ away, but he wasn’t allowed to ride there. 

The whole month he had been stuck helping out Grimshaw or reading with Hosea and Dutch. He was bored out of his mind. 

That’s why he’s now standing outside of Arthur’s room. 

“Arthur?” John calls out banging on the door. “You wanna go to the lake with me?” 

John doesn’t wait for an answer, he pushes it open but stops in the doorway. 

Arthur was wearing his fine clothes. John recognized the light, satin vest and the pants, the ones he always saved for special occasions. He had seen him wearing it on the portrait of him, Hosea and Dutch. Sometimes he would catch Arthur stroking the soft material the few times he dared to take it out of his storage chest.   
  
The shirt was new, however, and pure white in color, not like the other white shirts they had in their wardrobe that had started to turn yellow. The hanker-tie was new as well as was the tailcoat. He looked dashing, like one of the heroes from the books John liked to read.   
John scrunches up his nose in confusion. 

“What’s the point in knockin’ if you’re gonna barge in anyways?” Arthur asks. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” 

“Goin’ out,” Arthur responds. “Dutch wanted me to come with him to the dinner with Harris.” 

“He ain’t taking Hosea?” 

“Nah, wanted me.” 

That didn’t seem fair. Hosea was the one that had sniffed out the man, Herbert Harris, a factory owner with shares in the oil industry. _‘An arrogant piece of shit,’_ Arthur had described him as after meeting him.   
Hosea and Dutch had meet with him many times during the month. John didn’t get why Hosea couldn’t come this time, why Dutch had excluded him. 

Or more, he didn’t get why Dutch had to drag Arthur along. John always felt bored without Arthur around, especially since he wasn’t allowed to leave the cabin without an adult. And he had wanted Arthur to take him exploring the caves they’d seen when first riding through the area. 

He could see that the older man was uncomfortable, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeve. John goes inside and takes a seat on Arthur’s bed. 

“You look pretty,” John says. It’s met with a scoff from his older brother. “I’m serious!” 

“Boy’s aren’t pretty, dumbass,” Arthur says. “You call girls pretty, boy’s you call handsome.” 

“Well I think you’re pretty.” 

Arthur adjusts the hanker-tie around his neck, a deep blue with gold brocade, one that makes his eyes look even brighter. “I don’t even know why Dutch wants to bring me along,” he complains. “He’s the one always sayin’ I’m too stupid for a proper con.” 

“You ain’t stupid,” John says, grabbing Arthur’s sketchbook from the side of the bed. “I think you’re smart. Can I look at your drawings?” 

“Sure,” Arthur says. “And you only think I’m smart ‘cus you’re a dumbass yourself.” 

“That ain’t true,” he protests, turning the pages in the book in look for his favorite drawing, the one of himself. He didn’t have any real pictures of himself yet, even though Hosea had promised them to go into town and take portraits. That was before his birthday, before they had to run for their lives from the law after a botched robbery. As soon as they had more money, he was gonna bring it up again. “Dutch says I’m smart.” 

“Yeah, he says a lot of things.” 

“Can you draw me again sometime?” John asks, and Arthur lets out a laugh. 

“You like seeing your face that much, kid?” 

Arthur sits down next to him, grabs a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lights it up. ”I don’t like doin’ cons so close to where we live, kinda gotten used to this place.” 

”Me too, ” John mumbles. ”I like having my own room.” 

“Well, kid,” Arthur says, blowing smoke into his face. “Don’t get used to it. We’ll probably have to scram as soon as this is done.” 

The law would catch the scent of them sooner or later, they always did, and whatever Dutch was planning was bound to start trouble. They needed the money though, they always did. 

“How did Dutch even afford new clothes?” John asks. 

Arthur shrugs. “Perhaps he’d gotten Harris to invest in something already? I dunno, he hasn’t told me nothin’.” 

“He’s sending you in blind?” 

Arthur doesn’t have the time to respond, interrupted by fast rapping on his door. 

“Arthur,” Dutch calls from the other side. “We need to go.” 

Arthur throws the cigarette out of the window. “Don’t wait up, Marston.” 

He leaves without another word. 

John hears Dutch in the hallway cooing over how good Arthur looks. 

He wishes he could come with them too. 

He wakes up in Arthur’s bed in the middle of the night to loud voices coming from outside. It’s Hosea, he realizes, him yelling something indistinguishable at someone. 

He’s quick upon his feet, runs out to see what all the noise is about. He stops just in front of the door. 

“ _He was fine before you started to interrogate him,”_ he hears Dutch yell. 

“ _He wasn’t fine, Dutch, I can’t-,”_ Hosea makes a sound, sounds like he’s about to burst and like he’s choking at the same time. _“We raised him as our_ _son!_ _What the hell is wrong with you?!”_

John carefully opens the door, the creaking catches both of the older men’s attention, both fall silent and stares at the newcomer. 

“Go to bed, John,” Hosea snarls at him. He’s on his knees, holding a very drunk Arthur in his arms, an Arthur who looked all disheveled, his hair ruffled up and his clothes wrinkled. Arthur, who was crying into Hosea’s shoulder, clinging to him like his life depended on it. 

He’d only seen Arthur cry once but even then, it hadn’t been like _this,_ his sobbing bordering on hysterical. 

Dutch stands next to them, looking annoyed, and John wonders if Arthur messed the job up by getting himself wasted. “What’s wrong with Arthur?” John asks, but before Hosea has time to reply Dutch grabs his arm and hauls him back inside. 

“Did Arthur do something wrong?” He asks Dutch, almost tripping over his feet when he tries to keep up with the older man. 

“No, he didn’t.” Dutch replies. “Hosea is just being his usual constipated self.” 

_‘But why is Arthur crying?’_ he wants to ask, but Dutch pushes him inside his bedroom with a roughness he doesn’t recognize. 

“Go to sleep, son,” he says and slams the door behind him. 

When the sobbing from outside dies down, he can finally fall asleep, but it’s not for long. 

He wakes up and can hear someone puke in the middle of the night. He doesn’t investigate whom, but he’s got an idea. 

He’ll have to ask Arthur what exactly happened at that dinner once the man sobers up, he thinks. 

Unfortunately, Arthur refuses to open his door in the morning no matter how hard he knocks. Grimshaw drags him away from the door, an angry scowl on her face, and puts him to work with peeling vegetables. 

He doesn’t see Dutch at all during the whole day. 

He’s on his way to take a leak, finally being allowed a break by Grimshaw, when he sees Hosea standing outside. He’s saddling his horse, bags packed. 

John feels his throat dry up. “You’re leaving?” 

Hosea turns around, there is a guilty look to his eyes. 

“We are going away for a while, to Bessie.” 

“We?” 

“Arthur and I.” 

A familiar feeling rises in his chest, bitter jealousy that Arthur always seemed to get Hosea’s attention, Hosea never seemed to want to be around him. 

“You said you was gonna take me with you next time,” John snaps. “You promised me!” 

“I know,” Hosea tries, “I am gonna take you, just not today.” 

“You _always_ take Arthur, always,” John knows that he sounds like a brat. He doesn’t care, angry that Hosea once again disappoints him. 

Hosea sighs, kneels down so that he meets John’s eyes, places a warm hand on his shoulder. Hosea looks so sad that John suddenly feels ashamed over his outburst. “I know that I promised you, John. But right now, Arthur needs me more than you do.” 

“Did someone hurt him?” John thinks of Arthur’s ashen face, the way he had been locked up in his room all day refusing to see anyone. Grimshaw’s food had been left untouched outside of his room. Thinks of the way Hosea had been yelling at Dutch, he had never seen him so angry. “Was it Dutch?” 

Hosea looks like he’s contemplating his response. “No, it wasn’t Dutch,” Hosea finally says. “But Dutch-, well Dutch did something wrong. And visiting Bessie would do good for Arthur.” 

“Is he gonna be okay?” John asks. 

“He just needs time,” Hosea says. “Time away from everything for a bit.” 

John doesn’t push if further, knows that Hosea won’t tell him anything more than he already have. 

  
  


When Hosea and Arthur finally leave, Arthur doesn’t even spare a glance at him, just holds his eyes downcast, walks without his usual swagger. His black bandana is tied around his neck, but John still thinks he can see some bruises on his throat, almost circular, purple and blue in color. 

The uneasy feeling in his gut grows. 

John sees Grimshaw burn the fine clothes Arthur had been wearing, his favorite vest going up in smoke. 

He keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t ask. 

  
  


John never knew what happened that night. As he grows older, he thinks he has a clue, thinks about how Dutch’s pockets suddenly seemed heavier, how they could stock up on food and ammunition. But he doesn’t ask, and never knows for sure. What he does know is that Arthur grew silent. He never sees him cry again, not after that. 

He doesn’t see him smile much either. 

They don’t talk about it, none of them do. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentines day


End file.
